


Not All Roses

by lilbluednacer



Series: An Infinity of Worlds [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Banshee Lydia Martin, Detective Stiles, F/M, Haunted Houses, background scallison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 11:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12011463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilbluednacer/pseuds/lilbluednacer
Summary: Lydia keeps waking up in the rose bushes behind the old haunted Eichen House, much to the consternation of Stiles Stilinski.





	Not All Roses

She wakes up in a rose bush.

Well, technically not, because to wake up one would have to have been asleep first, not wandering around in a banshee fugue in the middle of the night. But, semantics.

Lydia sighs and carefully extricates herself from the roses, hissing in displeasure when her bare forearm gets scratched by thorns. She's still in her clothes from earlier today, a cream cap sleeve blouse and slim cut navy pants, heeled boots, no coat. Her purse somehow, as if by magic, is slung over her shoulder and when she takes her phone out Lydia discovers that it's 3am and she has 27% battery life.

Lydia dials Allison and follows the cobblestone path through the garden, elbows tucked closely to her sides so she doesn't get any more scratches. Allison answers on the third ring, mumbling something that vaguely sounds like _what_ into the phone.

"Can you come pick me up?" Lydia whispers, the clicking of her heels on the cobblestone absurdly loud in the empty garden.

"Again?" Allison murmurs sleepy.

"Obviously." Lydia shivers, carefully sidestepping around an overgrown hydrangea plant.

"Same place?"

"Mm-hm."

"Okay." There's a pause, Lydia envisions Allison flicking on her lamp and dragging herself out of bed to search for her car keys. "See you in a bit."

"Thanks," Lydia whispers, and hangs up, turns on the flashlight app and holds it out in front of her.

She's reached the edge of the garden. Ahead of her looms the silhouette of the old (purportedly) haunted Eichen House, the local legend of Beacon Hills. It used to be an insane asylum but so many patients died here that it was eventually shut down. No one seems to have any desire to purchase the property so the house has been sitting here for years, crumbling, while the garden behind it slowly takes over.

Lydia creeps around the side of the mansion, shivering in the night air. She breathes out a side of relief when she gets to the street and sinks down on the curb to wait for Allison, who shows up fifteen minutes later, signaling and pulling over. Lydia lets herself into the car, sighing in relief at the hot air blowing through the vents. Allison is behind the wheel wearing her leather jacket over a sweatshirt and leggings, her hair pulled messily back from her face.

"You okay?" Allison glances at her before checking her mirror and pulling the car back out onto the street.

Lydia pulls a tissue out of the glove compartment and presses it against her bloody forearm. "More or less."

"This is the third time this week."

"I know."

Allison shoots a sideways glance at her that looks mildly judgmental. "You have to go to SERA."

Lydia leans her forehead against the window. "I know."

"Lydia" -

"I'll go tomorrow, okay?"

Allison yawns so hard her jaw cracks. "Okay."

Allison drives them back to their apartment in Beacon Terrace. They're the only car on the street, it barely takes them ten minutes. She parks in the garage and they walk in silence up to the stairs to their apartment. Allison unlocks the door and Lydia follows her inside, kicking off her boots in the hallway. Allison smiles tiredly and gives her a hug. "I'm glad you're okay."

Lydia sighs and drops her chin onto Allison's shoulder. "Thanks for picking me up."

"Did you see anything?" Allison whispers. She sounds worried, her fingers combing through the ends of Lydia's hair.

"No." Lydia squeezes Allison's shoulder and pulls away. "You know I'd tell you if I did. Come on, we should really go to bed."

Allison yawns in response. "You owe me coffee."

Lydia turns her head to the side to stretch her neck. "I can live with that."

* * *

The reason they chose the apartment in Beacon Terrace was purely location - it's within walking distance of both downtown Beacon Hills and campus. In the morning Lydia and Allison walk to the coffee shop on Main together, Lydia buys them both triple shot skinny lattes with the black card her father pays for. They spilt ways in the quad, Allison has a humanities lecture and Lydia is TA'ing two sections for Professor Wexler back to back.

Lydia has office hours after, she eats a salad over her desk and goes over the upcoming midterm with a few freshmen who wander in, familiar looks of desperation on their faces. She's done at four in the afternoon, Lydia pulls her grey knit cardigan over her cream and peach printed wrap dress, locks her office, walks out of the building and leaves campus.

The Supernatural Enforcement and Regulation Agency is located in downtown Beacon Hills. It's an innocent looking limestone building framed by trees, just down the street from Beacon Hills Coffee and Cafe. Lydia stands outside the building for a few minutes under the shade of an oak tree. She's only been here twice, once after she was bitten and once when she turned eighteen to officially register. Her mother had taken her out for ice cream after, like she was little and getting a reward for not crying during a shot at the pediatrician's.

Lydia runs her fingers through her hair, down in loose waves today, smooths out the skirt of her dress and pushes herself through the revolving front door to the lobby. There's a directory on the wall and elevators straight ahead, Lydia turns to the side and begins to read:

Directory of the Supernatural Enforcement and Regulation Agency, Beacon Hills Branch:

  * Ground Floor - Lobby
  * First Floor - Pack Dynamics Offices, Alpha Registry, Full Moon Planning Committee, and Human-Were Relations Organization
  * Second Floor - Supernatural Creature Registry, Shift Assistance, and Inter-Species Cooperation Organization
  * Third Floor - Supernatural Crimes and Investigations
  * Forth Floor - Pack Visa Application Agency and Office of Tourism, Human Transformation Application and Oversight Committee
  * Fifth Floor - Magical Guidance, Legal Spells and Runes Archive, Coven Registry, Emissary Association, and The Spark Network 



Lydia frowns for a moment, debating, before crossing the lobby and taking the elevator up to the third floor. It opens into a small lobby, a desk directly opposite her. There's a woman with curly blond hair and slick red lipstick sitting behind the desk filing her nails, wearing a black shirt with SERA printed in block letters on the breast. Lydia steps up to the desk and clears her throat; the blond's head snaps up and she leans back in her chair, watching Lydia with sharp eyes.

"Can I help you?" Her tone is sugary sweet and fake, Lydia has to resist rolling her eyes at her attitude.

"I need to make a report."

The girl behind the desk looks unimpressed. "What kind of report?"

Lydia swallows, her throats suddenly dry. "I need to report a possible murder."

The girl points her nail file in the direction of the back window. "Police Station is that way."

"A supernatural murder," she clarifies.

The blond raises an eyebrow at her. "We don't do psychics here, sweetheart."

"I'm not psychic," Lydia says crisply.

The other girl sighs and drops her nail file onto the desk. "I'm going to need to see some identification."

Lydia nods and pulls her wallet out of her purse, takes out her SERA issued ID card and slides it across the desk. The blond picks it up and her eyes go comically large. "Yeah, you're gonna want to talk to Stiles."

"What's a stiles?" Lydia asks, taking her ID card back and putting it away.

For some reason the other girl cackles. "You'll see." She picks up the phone on her desk and puts it to her ear, dials an extension. "Hey Stilinski, I got a live one for you. BP with potential casualties."

Lydia waits impatiently by the desk, fingers nervously tapping against her thigh. After a few minutes a guy rounds the corner of the hallway and comes into the lobby. He's wearing khakis and a blue button down, a laminated SERA ID badge hanging around his neck. He holds a hand up in greeting before shoving it through spiky brown hair. 

"Hey Erica," he says to the blond, before turning towards Lydia and holding out his hand. "Hi, I'm Agent Stilinski," he says, and then he winks. "But no one calls me that, Stiles is fine."

"Lydia Martin." His palm is warm and his fingers are long and elegant. She forgets to let go and there's an awkward moment where they stand there, hands joined, before Erica leans back in her chair with a thump and they both startle and break apart.

"Why don't we go to my office?" Stiles suggests, shooting Erica a chastising look.

Lydia nods, her temples starting to throb, wishing she'd stopped for another coffee before coming here. By the time she'd bandaged her arm and gotten into bed it was almost four am and she barely got five hours of sleep before getting up to teach. Stiles puts a friendly hand on her shoulder and she's surprised by how good it feels, to lean into his weight and let herself be guided.

She sneaks a glance at Stiles out of the corner of her eye. Bright amber colored eyes, an upturned nose. He turns to her and she looks away, flushing. His thumb rubs a circle over the top of her shoulder before he pulls his hand away and directs her into a small office off the hallway.

There's a plaque over the door: Agent Stiles Stilinski, Office of Supernatural Investigations.

"So," she asks, brushing past him in the doorway. "You're a detective?"

Stiles grins, leaning over her to flip on the light. "Yeah, something like that."

His office is small - there's a desk, a chair on either side, a bookshelf pushed against one wall overflowing with books. There's a diploma from George Washington University on the wall, a few framed pictures on the desk. Stiles and an older man in a law enforcement uniform, Stiles standing next to a boy with bronze skin wearing matching graduation robes and big smiles. A woman with dark hair holding a beaming little boy in her lap.

"So," Stiles says, walking around the desk to sink into the chair behind it. "Erica said something about a banshee premonition."

Lydia nods, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear self-consciously. She doesn't like talking about them, tries her best to go about her life as if she's normal. She doesn't like the way people look at her after they know what she is, what she can do, the way their faces tighten with terrified anticipation like she's going to scream for them right then and there.

Stiles just smiles patiently and folds his arms on his desk. "We can go over the details once San Francisco sends over an official form, but in the meantime anything you can tell me would be helpful."

Lydia blinks. "San Francisco."

Stiles nods, opening up the laptop sitting on the desk and typing something. "Yeah, banshees are pretty rare, as I'm sure you know, we don't have any standard issues forms. The San Fran branch has to send them out special."

Lydia fiddles with the clasp of her bag. "So you don't even have the proper paperwork?" 

"I just have to send in a request, we should get it by the morning."

Lydia crosses her arms over her chest. "What if we don't have until the morning?"

Stiles stops typing, immediately looking concerned. "Do you have a reason to believe that's possible?"

"I'm a banshee," she says quietly. "Anything's possible." 

He stabs at the keyboard and then shuts the laptop, and to her surprise gets up and grabs a black canvas jacket that's hanging over the back of his chair. "Do you drink coffee?"

"Excuse me?"

He walks around the desk, holding a hand out to her and Lydia takes it reflexively, letting him help her up. "I'm asking if I can buy you a cup of coffee," he clarifies.

"Oh," she says faintly, stepping back and fluffing out her sweater.

She tilts her head critically at him, taking inventory. Tall, nice lean body and broad shoulders. Sharp, bright eyes. Smart, given the diploma and all the books. Good hands.

"Alright," she agrees, and follows him out of the office.

They walk back through the hallway and into the elevator, take it down to the lobby and walk out onto the sidewalk. The afternoon sun is soft and golden, making Stiles' hair turn a million different shades of brown. He squints at the sky before reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a pair of wayfarers.

"There's a cafe right down the block," he says, tipping his chin in the direction of Beacon Hills Coffee and Cafe as he slides the sunglasses onto his face.

"I know, I study there sometimes," Lydia says, easily falling into step next to him.

"You in school?"

"Grad school."

"Where'd you do undergrad?"

"MIT," she says lightly. 

"Shit, that's impressive," he says, grinning. "How'd you like Cambridge?"

"Too cold," she says dismissively. 

Definitely not ideal when one is prone to wandering around in a fugue state. Her junior year the police found her on the T wearing a sundress and sandals in the middle of the night with absolutely no memory of leaving her apartment.

In February.

Stiles chuckles. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

When they get to the cafe he holds the door open for her and follows her to a table in the back corner. A waitress appears almost immediately with a thermos of coffee for their table and Stiles orders a blueberry scone roughly the size of his head. 

"So," he says when it arrives, breaking off a chunk and dipping it into his coffee. "We can go over everything when we fill out the paperwork, but is there anything you want to tell me about what's going on?"

Lydia stirs a packet of brown sugar into her coffee, watching the crystals dissolve. "It wasn't really my idea to come to you," she confesses, and immediately realizes that the _you_ sounds personal. "SERA, I mean."

He glance up at her. "So whose was it?"

She cradles her mug in her hands. "My roommate's. Honestly I think she's just tired of having to get up in the middle of the night to pick me up."

He raises an eyebrow, like he doesn't totally believe her. "Yeah?"

"She's my best friend," Lydia explains. "She's worried."

Something in Stiles' expression softens. "Best friends are usually right about that sort of thing."

Lydia nods in agreement, watching as he licks a crumb off the corner of his mouth. It's sort of fascinating, watching his tongue move, idly imagining tracing its path with her finger. He really is attractive, she realizes, feeling simultaneously exhilarated and horrified at the trail of her thoughts. She hasn't had anything serious since Jackson, she's been focused on school. She's not the old Lydia Martin who gets distracted by a pretty face anymore.

"Lydia?"

She startles, dropping her mug onto the table, coffee splashing over the rim. "Shit," she mutters, using her napkin to mop it up. "Sorry, I didn't sleep much last night."

"Hey." His hand covers hers, taking the napkin from her and wiping up her mess. "It's okay. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." It comes out tense and she tries to smile to soften her words but she can't quite fake it.

Stiles is watching her, beautiful eyes wide and alert. "It happened last night, didn't it?" 

She nods and looks away, stares out the window at the soft autumn sunlight. She's an adult now, she's accepted what she is, how pervasive it can be, how she'll never really be normal. But she doesn't have to like it.

"When did it happen?" he asks quietly. "Finding out what you were?"

She swallows and picks up her coffee with a firmer grip this time. "High school."

He nods, finger breaking his scone up into little pieces. "That's rough. My best friend got turned by a rogue when we were sophomores. He's fine, he's great now, but it was a big adjustment."

"Is that why you work for SERA now? Because of what happened to your friend?"

"Mm, partly I guess. I've always wanted to be a detective, ever since I was a kid. I like mysteries, solving things. But after what happen with him... I don't know, I guess I realized that I just wanted to help in any way I could, you know?"

Lydia presses her lips together, heart doing a weird little flutter in her chest, because he's not just cute, he's _nice_. She can practically hear Allison whispering in her ear to _smile, Lydia_. 

"So what happens after we finish the paperwork?" she asks.

"I have to file them with my boss, we'll go over the details with the rest of the office. Usually we start with locations, unless there are specifics details in your premonition"-

"I didn't," she interrupts, lowering her voice when she remembers that they're in public and she's not interested in broadcasting her abilities. "Have a premonition."

Stiles furrows his forehead. "I'm not sure I understand."

Lydia sips her coffee, trying to figure out how to explain. "It doesn't always work like that. Sometimes I just hear things - auditory clues, but I usually don't have any context for them. And sometimes it's just a feeling. Like I'm being pulled somewhere... or I find myself somewhere and I don't remember how I got there."

She remembers last night, the sudden sharp shock of awareness, that sick understanding that it happened again, time cruelly skipping ahead without her consent. She dreams about it sometimes, about waking up in the middle of nowhere. Waking up hurt, waking up halfway-frozen, waking up naked. Waking up screaming for death.

"Hey. Lydia." Stiles' hands are on hers again, slowly lowering her mug to the table and pulling her trembling fingers into the warm cradle of his palms. "I promise I'll help you figure this out, okay?"

She can't make herself pull away. There's something compelling about it, the intensity in his eyes, the sureness of his voice, the warmth of his skin against herself. "Okay."

Stiles pays for the coffee and his scone with a crumpled wad of cash and walks her back outside. He doesn't touch her but Lydia can feel his hand hovering behind her back, like he's right there, just in case. It's nice, comforting even, the warmth on his face and the sunlight rewriting the chill of last night, the cold glow of the moon and the pinch of thorns digging into the top layer of her epidermis.

She gives him her number so he can let her know when the paperwork comes in and they part on the sidewalk, Stiles waking back to his office and Lydia in the direction of her apartment. She beats Allison home, which is a little strange, because it's Thursday and Allison is always home by six on Thursdays with takeout, it's their little ritual. Lydia turns on all the lights and locks the front door behind her as if that will stop her from wandering out if she goes into another fugue.

She changes into a robe in her bedroom and goes into the bathroom, turns the shower on hot until the room fills with steam. She spends a long time under the water, thinking about Stiles, his determined promise to her, like he really meant it. She deep conditions her hair and shaves her legs, scrubs hard at her fingernails to remove any last traces of dirt she picked up last night.

Lydia's too tired to blow dry her hair when she gets out, she combs it back off her face and braids it instead, changes into a soft pink cashmere oversized sweater and a pair of grey leggings. She goes into the open concept kitchen and living room and finds an almost full bottle of Sauvignon Blanc in the fridge. She pours a full glass for herself and another for Allison, who walks in ten minutes later with a bag of Thai food from their favorite place under one arm.

"I met the _cutest_ guy today!" Allison calls out, using the toe of her boot to slam their door shut. 

Lydia leans over to the back of the couch to shoot a smile at her. She feels better after the shower, with half a glass of wine in her stomach and the familiarity of her best friend nearby. "Is that why you're late?"

"He is _so cute_ ," Allison reiterates, plunking the bag of food down on the kitchen island and hopping up on a stool to unzip her boots. "And I'm not that late."

"So where'd you meet this guy who is so cute?"

"You're not even going to believe this." Allison shrugs off her jacket and hops down from the stool to hang it up. "So I'm about to pull over to parallel park to get Thai and this dog comes out of nowhere. So I have to slam on my brakes in the middle of the street, this dog is totally screwing up traffic, I'm hyperventilating because I really thought for a second I hit it - is this for me?"

Lydia nods, bemused, watching Allison scoop up the glass of wine Lydia left out for her and take a big sip. "So anyway, my car is still blocking traffic and I'm trying to figure out how to get this dog out of the street." 

Allison walks around the island and pulls forks out of their silverware drawer before picking up the takeout bag and bringing everything over to the couch. "And then this guy showed up."

"He who is so cute?"

"He just like, _looked_ at the dog and it totally chilled out. And he was super nice and sat with me until the dog's owner showed up, thank god it had a tag. And he um..." Allison pauses, cheeks flushed, reaching into the bag to pull out two containers of pad Thai, passing one to Lydia. "He asked me out on a date."

"Really?" Lydia balances her dinner on her thigh as she pulls the lid off, wine glass resting precariously against her side.

Allison nods happily, the dimple in her cheek popping. "We're going to that new sushi place on Greenleaf Saturday night."

Lydia takes a sip of her wine, swallowing back a tinge of loneliness at the thought of another weekend with just her and her books. "That's great."

Allison digs her fork into her pad Thai. "Anyway, that's why I'm late, it was because of a guy, but I still brought you dinner so you can't be mad at me, okay?"

Lydia takes a delicate bite of her rice noodles. "I'm not mad."

Allison shoots a glance at her over the rim of her wine glass. "Did you go to SERA?"

"Yeah, it was fine. I have to go back tomorrow to fill out some paperwork."

Allison nods, twirling noodles around her fork. "If you go in the afternoon I can go with you when I'm done with class."

Lydia shakes her head. "It's fine, I can handle it."

"Okay." Allison tips her head back against the couch and sighs.

Lydia raises an eyebrow. "What?"

Allison giggles and gives her a sheepish smile. "He wants to be a _veterinarian_." 

"Okay, you're right," Lydia concedes. "That's pretty cute."

* * *

True to his word, Stiles sends Lydia a text the next morning informing her that her paperwork has been faxed over and she's welcome to stop by SERA anytime that day to fill it out. When she's finished with school for the day she walks home, changes out of her pants and blazer and into a soft grey sweater dress. She tells herself it's just because she'd rather be comfortable and not because she's going to see Stiles, because why should she care about that, looking cute (but not like she's trying of course) for him? The same way she touches up her hair with salt spray and checks her lipstick before walking out the door.

It's not like it's a crime to want to look good purely for her own self-pleasure.

Lydia texts Stiles that she's heading over and walks to SERA while ignoring the inexplicable racing of her heart, trying to remind herself that she's doing this because Allison asked her to, because she doesn't want to scream for anyone, because she doesn't want to find a body.

She remembers Stiles' promise from yesterday, _I'll help you figure this out_ , and holds onto it as she approaches SERA and walks inside, the heels of her boots clicking loudly on the marble.

Today Stiles is waiting for her in the third floor lobby, Erica nowhere in sight. He's wearing khakis and a grey button down under a navy hoodie, leaning against the wall, those long legs stretched out. He smiles when he sees her, holding out a hand in greeting.

"Hello," she says formally, suddenly feeling awkward, unsure if she should shake his hand or hug him, which would be _so unprofessional_ , she mentally chides herself.

Stiles makes the choice for her, dropping his hand onto her shoulder and squeezing gently. "Thanks for coming in."

"Of course." She offers him a tentative smile. "Shall we?"

They walk down the hallway to his office and Stiles pulls an armchair out for Lydia, who sits down delicately so she doesn't expose too much of her bare thighs, settling her purse in her lap as he walks around the desk and flings his body into his desk chair, picking up a pile of papers.

"Okay, so this one is just basic info. Name, address, occupation, etcetera." Stiles pushes the page over to her along with a pen and Lydia takes it, skimming it over.

She fills out her name and address, writes in her school information under _occupation_ and puts Allison down as her emergency contact. She hands it back to Stiles, who places it into a folder and kicks back in his chair, balancing the rest of the papers on his thighs.

"Okay, that was the easy part," he says, voice calm and vaguely sympathetic. "Everything else I have to fill out and when we're done I'll need you to notate it."

"Alright," she agrees.

"I pulled your file," he says. "In the five years since you've been registered you've never come in."

Lydia raises an eyebrow. "I've never had to."

Stiles nods. "Okay. Well, I guess we should start at the beginning then."

She exhales, reaching up to rub the ends of her hair between her figures, a bad nervous habit. She forces herself to drop her hands into her lap lest she give herself split ends. "The first time was... one second." She pulls out her phone and opens her calendar. "Six days ago."

He cocks an eyebrow. "The first time?"

"The other night was the third time."

"Third?" he asks sharply.

"Yes. Why, is that significant?"

Stiles is frowning down at her paperwork. "Just this thing my dad used to say. Never mind. Okay, so what happened?"

"I was studying in the library. I left at about nine, I texted my roommate when I left that I was coming home. And then..." Lydia trails off, remembering how she'd come to with her face pressed into the dirt, flowers tangled around her head and neck like they were trying to tell her all their secrets. Or strangle her.

"Hey, Lydia." She jumps, startled, eyes going to Stiles, who's sitting patiently across from her. "You're doing great," he says, soft and encouraging.

"Sorry," she apologizes. "I don't know why this is so hard to talk about."

"It's okay," he reassures her. "I know this stuff can feel really personal. Take your time."

She curls her fingers into her palms and takes a deep breath. "When I... came back to myself, I was in the garden behind Eichen House."

"Eichen House? That old insane asylum?"

"I didn't find anything," she says, because it seems important, the absence of a body. "I don't know why I went there."

"And there were no premonitions, auditory hallucinations, anything like that?"

"No," she murmurs. "Nothing. I really don't know why I ended up there."

Stiles nods, scribbling something down on the form. "And the next time?"

"The second time was Monday night. Same thing, I was walking and then I was just..."

"Did you go to the same location?"

"Yes."

Stiles looks thoughtful. "So the location must have some kind of significance."

"I don't know. Probably. It's where I ended up on Wednesday too."

"And you have no memory of how you got there?"

Lydia shivers. "No. I assumed I walked although I suppose I can't know for sure."

Stiles nods, hand flying across the page as he writes. "And you said you didn't have a premonition then either, right?"

"No... just a feeling, I guess."

"What kind of feeling?"

Lydia remembers the sense of apprehension, the chill in her bones as she walked by the old building. "People died there, didn't they? Back when it was still operating?"

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "You thinking it could be a haunting?"

"I don't know. I - I don't know why that alone would have pulled me there unless..."

"Unless someone is going to die."

Lydia nods, her cheeks heating for some reason. She's afraid to look up at him, afraid he's going to have that expression on his face - the one that signifies that he thinks she's a freak, a witch, a reminder of death.

"Okay, I think we're done then," he says gently, and pushes a pen into her hands. "Sign and date, please."

She follows his instructions, passes the forms back to him and stands up from her chair. Stiles puts the forms into the folder and follows suit, walking around his desk to open the door for her. "I'll take this to my boss first thing Monday morning. We'll have to go a judge to get a warrant for Eichen. It might take a few days to come through depending on what's going on but it'll get the ball rolling."

Lydia tightens her grip on the strap of her bag. "And what exactly am I supposed to do until then?"

Stiles shoots her a sharp look and takes something out of his pocket, reaches for a pen and scribbles something on the back. " _You_ are going to leave it to the professionals. This is my card, if something happens I want you to call me. Anytime. My cell number is on the back if you need it."

Lydia takes it from him, slipping it into her wallet. "Alright."

"Hey, I'm serious," he says. "If anything happens, you call me. Okay?"

Lydia gives him a tense smile. "Got it."

* * *

Lightning cracks across the sky.

Lydia blinks against the flare of white light and her shoes slip on the wet cobblestone. She lands on her hands and knees, gasping, her wet hair sticking to the back of her neck. It's pouring out and she's wearing a thin slip dress that's soaked through, her purse slung around one shoulder. Her palms burn as they scrape against stone, trying to get a grip on the wet surface.

It's like every other time, total disorientation, her mind scrabbling to put the pieces together. It's Saturday, she remembers, she was going to meet a few other students in her graduate program for a drink. And then - nothing.

Lydia pulls herself off the wet ground, head whipping around to determine her location, long wet hair slapping against her cheeks as she turns. She's at the edge of the garden behind Eichen House, _again_. She runs to the back wall of the building, sliding on the wet cobblestone, and huddles under the awning, shivering so hard she can hear her teeth clack together. She wants to call Allison but she's out on her date and Lydia can't bring herself to ruin it by calling. 

And then she remembers, Stiles pushing his card into her hands yesterday, making her promise to call him if anything happened. Lydia fumbles for her bag, fingers stiff with the cold, opens the clasp and pulls out her wallet. She finds his card behind her punch card for Beacon Hills Coffee, pinches it between her fingertips and takes out her phone, punches in the number for his cell and hits call.

It rings, three times, before the line clicks and she hears Stiles say, "Hello?"

"Stiles?" 

"Speaking."

"It's Lydia. Lydia Martin."

A pause, and then, "Lydia? Are you okay?"

She shivers, wedging the phone between her ear and shoulder so she can wrap her arms around herself. "Can you pick me up?"

"Where are you?" he asks immediately. "Eichen? Did it happen again?"

"Please," she whispers, because she's so cold and she's probably ruined her silk dress and she's afraid she might cry if he says no.

"I'm on my way," he says. "Lydia I want you to stay right there, okay? Are you hurt, do you need me to call an ambulance?"

"No, I just want you," she says before she can stop herself, like the cold has erased all her mental filters.

"It's okay," he reassures her. "I'll be right there."

Lydia hangs up and edges around the side of the building, slipping around in her stupid, traction-less sandals. She stays close to the front wall of Eichen House when she reaches the street, eyes straining in the dark for the appearance of headlights. She's so cold and tired; she has to reach down and pinch her thigh, hard, to keep herself alert. 

By the time a car shows up, a Jeep that's driving so fast water splashes up behind it in its wake, she's dropped to the pavement, legs bent with her knees pressed to her chest, huddled against the rain. Lydia shields her face against the flare of headlights, watching as the Jeep pulls over to the side and the driver's door opens.

"Lydia!" It's Stiles, running around the front of the Jeep and up the sidewalk.

She's too tired to yell, merely lifts an arm in a weak wave, watching him run up the walk. He collapses on his knees in front of her, the hood of his windbreaker pulled over his hair. "Are you hurt?" he shouts over the sound of the pounding rain.

She shakes her head, reaching out with numb fingers to hook them into the fabric of his jacket. "C-cold."

"Yeah, oh course, okay, come on, I've got you." He pulls her up and Lydia immediately slips, clutching onto Stiles so she doesn't fall. 

He hustles her down the sidewalk to his Jeep, opens the passenger side door for her and practically throws her limp body inside before running around the front of the car and getting into the driver's seat. The engine's still running; he turns the heat setting up to high and aims all the vents at her before twisting around and getting a blanket from the backseat.

"Are you sure you don't need to go to the hospital?" he asks, draping heavy fleece fabric over her body before buckling her seatbelt for her. "You could have hypothermia."

Lydia drops her head forward into the blast of hot air. She's so tired, she want to stay right here in his car and go to sleep. "I'm okay."

"Lydia"-

"Please take me home," she whispers, resting her chin on her knees.

His hand descends to the top of her head, heavy and warm. "Okay."

She mourns the loss when he takes it away to put the car in drive. He seems to remember her address from her file, because he drives straight to her apartment building without asking for directions and parks right outside. She waits for Stiles, who opens her door and helps her out of the car, one arm firm around her waist as they walk into the lobby of her building. Lydia doesn't even consider the stairs, she pulls Stiles into the elevator and hits the button for their floor before collapsing into him.

There's something about the aftermath - how the post-fugue experience leaves her feeling scraped-out and lost, exhausted. It's too hard, to pretend that she's fine right now, that it's not terrifying every single time. She can't stop herself from leaning against Stiles and the comfort of his body, clutching onto him as they exit the elevator and walk to the front door of her apartment.

Her hands are shaking too hard to get the key in the lock. Stiles gently covers his hand over hers and does it for her, ushering her into her own apartment like she's the guest with one hand splayed flat over the small of her back. Allison isn't home yet, all the lights are off and Lydia can't stop shaking as she stumbles into the foyer, blindly searching for the switch on the wall to flood the foyer with light.

Stiles cups warm hands over her bare shoulders. "You should change," he says. "I'll make you some tea."

It feels strangely good, for someone to tell her what to do, to not have to figure out what comes next all by herself. She nods, points him in the direction of the kitchen before staggering to her bedroom. She kicks off her heels and peels off her dress, carries it into the bathroom and hangs it over the shower rod. Lydia steps out of her wet underwear and throws the damp lace thong into the hamper, wraps her thickest towel around herself and blow dries her hair before changing into fleece-lined leggings and a chunky knit cream sweater.

When she comes back to the kitchen Stiles is perched on a stool with a mug of tea brewing, doing something on his phone. His head snaps up when he hears her come into the room, he drops his phone onto the counter and picks up the mug.

"Hey," he says, rushing over to her. "You should sit down."

Lydia allows him to usher her over to the couch. She sits down, picks up a chenille throw from the wicker basket on the floor and tucks the blanket around her legs before holding her hands out to accept the tea from him.

Stiles sits down next to her, eyes scanning over her face and body like he's looking for injuries. "You shouldn't be alone right now, can I call someone? Your roommate?"

"Oh god no," Lydia sighs, bringing the mug close to her face so she can breath in the steam. "She's on a date right now, she deserves a night off."

"Ah, okay." Stiles nods, tipping his head back against the back of the couch and stretching out his legs. "Boyfriend?"

"No boyfriend," she says softly. Her body is starting to wake up, under the blankets her legs shake and she tightens her grip on the mug but her stupid numb fingers start to tremble too.

"Okay." Stiles reaches out and peels her fingers off the mug before she can drop it, placing it safely down on the coffee table. "I could, um. Stay until your roommate comes back. If you wanted."

She turns to him, suddenly wishing she knew him better, that she could curl up in his lap and greedily take advantage of his body heat. The expression on his face is soft and tender in a way that she doesn't know how to handle, like if she asked he'd open her arms to her without a word. She's too tired to be coy or flippant about his offer, she just nods and passes him the remote to the tv. Stiles channel surfs, finds The Twilight Zone on Nick at Nite and after an approving nod from Lydia places the remote down next to her mug of tea and leans back against the couch.

Lydia pulls the blanket up to her chest, feeling the cold all the way down to her bones even as she starts to warm up, her fingers and toes tingling. She takes a sip of her tea before putting it back on the table, not trusting her unsteady hands to hold it without spilling. 

"Are you still cold?" he asks. 

Lydia nods, feeling a wave of exhaustion pull at her. Stiles curls his hand over her wrist and she tilts her head to look at him, swallowing back a sigh of relief at the warmth of his skin.

"Here," he says softly, and tugs her gently along the couch until she's pressed against his side. "This should help."

He takes her hands in his and starts to rub, not too hard, generating just enough friction for her fingers to warm up. Her throat feels full suddenly, like she might start crying. It feels like everything is happening in reverse with him - he's seen her in the middle of a banshee freak out before they've even eaten a meal together. He's seen her weak and trembling and ready to cry because his arm around her feels _so good_ and it's so easy in this moment to be selfish, to take what he's offering her at face value - warmth, safety, companionship.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm not usually like this."

He shifts in his seat, encouraging her to stretch out alongside his body. "Like what?"

She shrugs under the weight of his arm. "Helpless."

He tilts his head down to look at her, amber eyes warm like melting honey. "I don't think you're helpless."

"I'm just cold," she murmurs, like she needs an excuse to be here, to be acting like this.

He raises an eyebrow like she's accidentally challenged him. "Still?"

"This is helping," she admits.

Stiles snorts lightly and squeezes her hands. "Good."

They get through three episodes of The Twilight Zone before Lydia hears the scrape of Allison's key in the lock. Lydia lifts her head up from where it's fallen against Stiles' chest but all she hears is soft giggling.

"Shh, my roommate's home." Allison, sounding definitely tipsy. There's the sound of stumbling, the door creaking open.

Lydia and Stiles both sit up, Allison comes into view a moment later, gripping the forearms of a guy with bronze skin and dark hair. The pair of them stop in their tracks, Allison lets out a drunken giggle of surprise that Lydia has a guest, but the guy she's with looks legitimately confused, big brown eyes going wide.

"Stiles?" he questions, glancing between Allison and Stiles like he's trying to figure something out.

"Hey, Scott," Stiles says weakly, standing up from the couch.

"Wait, you two know each other?" Lydia asks, ignoring the way Allison is wiggling her eyebrows at her.

"He's my best friend," Scott and Stiles say at the same time.

"That's so cute!" Allison exclaims. "Lydia and I are best friends too!"

Lydia wrinkles her nose at Allison. "How much did you have to drink, exactly?"

"They had two-for-one sake cocktails," Scott explains, reaching out to hold Allison up by the waist. "We got a little carried away."

"I don't know why you even bothered," Stiles comments.

"They tasted good," Scott says, sounding slightly defensive.

Lydia glances at Scott, eyebrows raised. "You're the werewolf?"

Scott nods, giving her an appraising look in return. "Banshee?"

"Guilty as charged," she confirms.

"Wait," Allison says, her eyes rounding in drunken faux-shock. "Did it happen _again_?"

"I'm fine," Lydia says quickly. "It's fine."

"Why didn't you call me?" Allison exclaims, extracting herself from Scott to stumble around Stiles over to the other side of the couch to plop down next to Lydia.

"It's okay, Stiles picked me up. Really, I'm fine," Lydia reassures her.

"Wait...." Allison's forehead wrinkles and she looks back at Stiles. "Who are you again?"

Lydia slaps her palm against her forehead. "He works for SERA Allison, he's in charge of my case."

"Ohhhh." Allison drops her head back against the couch. "Wait so you called _him_ instead of me?"

"You were on a date," Lydia reminds her. "Which still appears to be happening by the way."

"Oh!" Allison jumps up from the couch and wanders back over to Scott so she can throw her arms around him. "This is Scott. Isn't he cute? I was right, right?"

Scott flushes adorably and Stiles has to push his fist against his mouth to muffle his laughter.

"Yes, Allison, he's very cute and properly embarrassed," Lydia says patiently.

Allison sighs mournfully, batting her eyelashes at Scott. "I'm sorry I got so drunk. I just think you're really really cute and it made me nervous."

"I think you're cute too," Scott stage-whispers. "But uh, I should probably go, we're kinda making a scene in front of our friends."

"Okay." Allison smiles happily and links her elbow with Scott to walk him back to the foyer.

"I think that's my cue." Stiles leans over Lydia and gives her a gentle hug, big hands solid against her back. "You gonna be okay?"

She nods into his shoulder, ashamed at herself for being disappointed that he's leaving. "I always am."

Stiles' mouth twists, like he's concerned. "You don't have to be, you know."

Lydia blinks in surprise and Stiles runs the back of his hand over his mouth. "I just mean, I'm here," he says. "If you need me."

Lydia clenches her hands together so he can't see the way her fingers are still trembling. "I know."

Stiles nods. "Okay. I'll touch base with you on Monday then?"

"Okay." Lydia forces herself to get up so she can walk him to the door, blanket sliding to the floor. "Thank you. For picking me up."

Stiles' smile is so soft and beautiful, it actually hurts a little to look at it. "Anytime."

* * *

Lydia gets a voicemail from Stiles ten minutes into her Monday morning lecture. The class passes agonizingly slowly, she has to grit her teeth all the way through it, unable to concentrate. She rushes out of the lecture hall as soon as lecture is over and dodges into an alcove, presses her back against the window to listen to his message in relative quiet. 

_Hi Lydia, its Stiles. Just calling with an update, call me back whenever._

Lydia frowns at the vagueness of his message and immediately hits callback. She taps the toe of her stiletto pump nervously as the phone rings, holding her breath until he picks up.

"Hey, Lydia, how are you?"

Lydia smiles to herself, realizing that he must have stored her number in his phone to know that it's her calling. "Fine thank you, how're you?"

"I'm okay. So look, I went over your file with my boss. We sent a request to the judge for a warrant to check out Eichen House but I just wanted to let you know it might not be so easy to get."

"Why not?"

"Well..." Stiles sighs into the phone. "He's got a reputation for being kind of a hard ass and since you didn't find a, um, body or any kind of physical evidence of a crime it might be hard to convince him."

Lydia tips her head back against the window, her heart sinking. "So that's it?"

"No, no, of course not. But we might have to work him for the warrant, that's all."

"Well what would convince him?" she asks, her voice tight. "Because I wouldn't be going there if there wasn't a reason."

"I know," he says gently. "Look, I know this is disappointing" -

"I'm not disappointed," she snaps. "I just think it's ridiculous that a bit of red tape could mean the difference between someone living or dying."

"I understand that you're frustrated," he says patiently. "But there's protocol I have to follow."

Lydia pushes her fingertips into her temples. "I understand."

"Okay. Look, why don't you come by the office when you're done with school for the day, we can talk more about it then."

"I have a meeting with my thesis advisor until seven."

"Oh. Well, ah... what about dinner then?"

"Dinner?" she parrots stupidly.

"Yeah, I mean, you'll probably be hungry by then right? And you ah, said you didn't have a boyfriend so I just assumed you were single, unless you have like, a girlfriend or something"-

"Stiles," she interrupts, aware of the way her cheeks have started to flush. "It's fine, I'm single."

"Oh cool, I'm, um, single too."

"So you want to take me to dinner?" she asks, dropping her register slightly so her voice is low and a bit teasing.

"Yes?"

He says it like a question, like he's not sure if he's overstepping or if she's setting him up for rejection.

Lydia grins to herself. "So just two single people out to dinner. Sounds like you're asking me on a date, Stiles."

There's a pause and a distant sound of a crash, like he knocked over a book or something. "Are you saying yes?"

She doesn't even have to consider it - this is the easiest question someone's asked her in ages. "Pick somewhere downtown and I can meet you at seven-thirty."

"Okay!" He sounds a little startled, like he didn't expect it to be that easy. "How's Beacon Grill?"

It's the perfect place for a first date, actually. Nice but not stuffy, an extensive menu, plenty of options if she happened to be vegetarian or vegan but they're known for their burgers too, which she has a feeling is more Stiles' speed.

"Perfect," she says crisply. "I'll meet you there? Seven-thirty?"

"It's a date," he replies, sounding immensely pleased. "Hey I've got to go, I'm about to run to a meeting, see you tonight!"

Lydia hangs up, heart lighter with the promise of seeing Stiles. Going on a _date_ with Stiles. She goes to another lecture, sits for office hours, eats a quinoa bowl during study group, and finally walks across campus for her meeting with her adviser. Lydia shivers as she walks her adviser through her thesis, wishing she has thought to bring a jacket to wear over her navy wrap dress. She doesn't know why she's so cold, the air conditioning isn't even on. It's more like a nagging feeling than an actual sensation, like a memory. 

Or a warning.

Her advisor lets her go at seven on the dot, Lydia leaves and walks outside, the setting sun in the distance turning the sky peach and gold. The wind whips her hair around her face and Lydia sighs, twisting around and opening her purse to see if she has an extra hair tie in her cosmetics bag. She digs one out of the bottom and walks as she braids the front pieces of her hair, securing it with the elastic. She crosses the street to leave campus, trips right over nothing and goes flying to the ground.

She cries out when her hands slam into sometime sharp and prickly. Lydia looks down and the first wave of panic hits as she realizes it's dark out, much darker than it was just a few minutes ago. She squints down at her palms, watching little beads of blood well up because she's landed in another freaking rose bush.

Then the second wave of panic comes as she puts the pieces together, looking around to confirm her fear - she's back in the garden behind Eichen House, tangled up at the bottom of the rose bushes. Her heart slams against her chest when she realizes she's missed Stiles, that for all she knows he's been waiting for her for hours, or worse, thought she stood him up.

She opens her bag frantically and digs around for her phone, mouth dropping open in disbelief when she hits the home button and nothing happens. The battery must have died while she was wandering around. She swallows back tears, pulls herself up to stand and winces as blood trails down her wrists and drips onto the dirt. Lydia trudges back through the garden dejectedly, she's going to have to walk at least six blocks to find somewhere open at this hour where she can charge her phone and call for a ride.

Up in the dark sky the moon is a silver crescent, offering barely enough light to see where she's going. She breathes a sigh of relief as she reaches the end of the garden and gets to the cobblestone path, Eichen House looming in front of her.

Lydia stops in the middle of the path, squinting, unsure for a moment if she's seeing what she thinks she's seeing.

The back door is open.

The compulsion to walk faster hits her out of nowhere, Lydia scrambles along the path to the back of the building. The door is wide open, like the ominous gaping mouth of a monster. She walks right inside, following the tug in her chest. The building is dark, eerie fluorescent overhead lights barely flickering. The chill is back, the hairs on her arm all standing up. She walks down hallways without knowing where she's going, trusting the pull she feels, the overwhelming compulsion to keep going, until -

 _There_.

There's a guy standing at the end of the hallway, she can tell just from his profile that it's Stiles, recognizes the upward tilt of his nose and the spike of his hair. He's chanting something, she's too far away to hear it, and smoke rises from a bundle of something burning on the floor. Lydia stumbles down the hall towards him, his chanting resolving into Latin, but she doesn't understand what he's doing until she gets close enough to see-

There's a woman, if you could call her that. Her form is nebulous, smoky but not quite opaque, and she's floating, heading right for Stiles, a twisted sneer on her face. Lydia chokes on a scream and starts to run, pressure building in the back of her throat. She recognizes it almost too late, that horrible physical need to scream, to announce death.

Stiles chants faster but it's too late, the ghost wraps her hands (how can ghosts have _hands_?) around his throat and Stiles' words die in his mouth.

It's like breathing, like waking up in the dirt, automatic and natural for her - Lydia stretches out her arms and _screams_ , directing the force right at the ghost so that she gets blasted away from Stiles. He whips his head around and his eyes widen when he sees her, his hands clutching at his throat.

"Finish it!" Lydia shrieks.

His whole body jerks and Stiles turns back to the ghost, who's drifting back towards him. Stiles starts to chant against, his voice hoarse but steady and the ghost gets three inches away from him when she just vanishes, like smoke.

Stiles collapses, sliding right to ground, the bundle of sage smoking on the floor, and Lydia runs, falling to her knees next to him and cupping her hands around his face.

"Stiles!" she shouts. 

He blinks at her, stares around the empty space around them, looking a little dazed. "Is it gone?"

Lydia drops her forehead against his, her heart dancing a painful staccato in her chest. "Yes, it's gone, you did it. Why are you here alone, what were you _thinking?_ "

Stiles swallows and coughs. "When you didn't show up for dinner I had a feeling you'd end up here."

Lydia frowns. "What, and the back door just happened to be open?"

"Sure," he says, looking a little shifty. "Yeah, lets go with that."

"Are you crazy?" she hisses. "Stiles, I almost _screamed_ "-

"You did scream. Nice work, by the way."

"I almost screamed for you!" Lydia whisper-shouts. "You shouldn't have come here all alone, it wanted to kill you, that thing almost killed you and it could've killed you and it would've been all my fault, did you even think about the consequences"-

Stiles cuts her off by pressing his mouth against hers and Lydia goes still, mind blanking out, taking in the sweet pressure of his lips on hers. 

"Why did you do that?" she whispers when he pulls away.

"I uh, was trying to calm you down," he explains sheepishly. "Also you're really cute when you get worked up like that." 

"You're ridiculous," she says fondly. "Come on, let's get out of here, I hate this place."

"I have a backup team heading here anyway, they're gonna meet me in the front. Oh and I should call Scott and let him know you're here, I sent him and Allison out to go look for you hours ago." Stiles grips her elbow and they stand up together. "Hey is that blood? Lydia, you're hurt!"

"It's nothing." She wipes her bloody palms on the skirt of her dress. "Just got stuck with a few thorns."

Stiles slings an arm around her shoulders and pushes her gently in the direction of the front entrance. "Yeah, I've always thought roses were overrated," he says.

"Not all roses," she says mildly. "But that monstrosity in the garden? Definitely."

Stiles laughs. "I'll talk to someone at the city council, I bet we could get a gardener out here sometime."

Lydia leans her head against his chest as they walk towards the front entrance. "Sorry I missed our date."

He raises an eyebrow. "Technically you didn't miss it. You're just late but considering the circumstances I'll let it slide. "

She snorts. "Not exactly how I was hoping it would go."

"I think Beacon Grill is closed by now but we could get a pizza?" Stiles offers hopefully. "I've got a first aid kit in my car, we should bandage your hands first before we go."

"Hmm, band-aids and pizza, you really know how to woo a lady," she teases.

"Hey, I'm giving you my best material here," Stiles jokes. "I mean, considering I almost got whacked by a ghost a few minutes ago."

Lydia shivers and snuggles closer to him. "Don't remind me."

Stiles drops a kiss on the top of her head in apology, leading her into a room that must have been the lobby back when Eichen was open. Lydia can see the glass doors of the front entrance up ahead, the blue and red swirl of police lights in the distance.

"That's backup. You're going to have to give an interview with my boss but he's cool, it shouldn't take long."

"That's fine." Lydia stops in front of the doors, looking up at Stiles searchingly. "You really came here to look for me?"

His eyes are soft in the dim light. "Yeah, of course I did."

She goes up on her tiptoes impulsively to kiss him, because this is a thing they do now, kiss, and she likes it, she likes it a lot. She thinks about how all her wandering led her here, right to Stiles. Lydia doesn't trust in a lot but she trusts in herself, trusts that she found Stiles for a reason. "Thank you," she whispers.

"Hey, you saved me," he reminds her. "I should be thanking you."

"We'll have time for that later," she reassures him. "When we're wearing less clothes, maybe."

Stiles blinks rapidly and tugs her towards the door. "Great, lets get this thing with my boss over with then, because I cannot _wait_ to thank you properly."

Lydia can't help but laugh, feeling so light all of a sudden - they figured it out, they got rid of the ghost and now there's a man standing next to her with a smart mouth and bright eyes and Lydia _wants_ him in a way that feels new and thrilling, adoring the way he makes the molecules of her body feel like they're lighting up. 

Stiles pushes the heavy front door open and reaches out for her, eyebrows raised expectantly, and Lydia takes his hand and follows him out into the moonlit night.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last fic of the series (for now anyway) but I'm working on new Stydia stuff so I'll be back soon! Thanks for reading ;)


End file.
